At Least I Still Have My Shoes
by ClintBarton67
Summary: Clint gets kidnapped by some off brand criminals, a complete waste of his time really. Complete fluff with some Clint!whump. Oneshot. Based mostly off Matt Fraction's Hawkeye.


A/N: This is my first ever fanfic so any feedback would be appreciated. Thanks! Rated T for language. Quick Disclaimer: I own nothing!

 **At Least I Still Have My Shoes**

Clint jerked his hand roughly, chafing his wrists even further against the coarse rope that bound them together. Yep, this was definitely going to be one of those moments he looked back on and wondered how the hell he got himself into this mess. Nat would never let him live this down.

Water dripped from a rusty pipe in the corner in sync with the blood dripping off the cut above his eye, making his head pound even more.

 _Concussion: check_.

Clint glanced around the room trying to find something that could help him identify where he was. The whole room was concrete, ceiling and floor included. There was a single, bare lightbulb strung from the ceiling over the wobbly wooden chair he was tied to. There were no windows, only a steel door on the far wall. Guess that means there's only one way outta here. He struggled against his bindings again, hoping the sweat that dripped down his skin would help slide the rope off his hands.

Suddenly the door swung open. Two men dressed in all black tactical gear paraded in and stood on either side of the door. They were followed by a stout man in big oval glasses and a pinstripe suit. Great. Another wannabe big shot bad guy.

"Mr. Barton, glad to see you're awake. I vas beginning to worry zey hit you too hard."

Jeez, that line again. Come on, couldn't Mr. Bigshot at least be original? Clint had probably heard that one at least a dozen times by now.

"Let's do zis ze easy vay Mr. Barton. Just tell me vhere zey keep ze file."

File? What file? Did this guy actually think Clint knew who he was?

"Bite me."

"Come now, do you really want me to have to beat it out of you?

"Go right ahead, Baldy give it your best shot" Ha. He'd love to see Chubs here actually throw a punch. Seriously, who did this guy think he was? Obviously, his goons didn't have much experience in how to take captives because he could still feel the emergency switchblade he kept in his sock.

"Karl, grab my gear please" One of the guards stepped out and returned a moment later with a worn, leather briefcase. Crap. This wasn't going to be fun.

"Mr. Barton, my name is Hans Weber. If you refer to me as anything else, you vill not like ze consequences." Karl. Hans. Seriously? Was he actually in _Die Hard_? _At least he was still wearing his shoes._

"Where are we anyway? _Nakatomi Plaza?_ "

Suddenly, Clint was looking at the ground. It took him a second to realize he'd been punched. _Dang. Alan Rickman here could swing._

"I vill ask ze questions here!"

Clint actually wanted to laugh. Between the names the accent, and the line it actually felt like this was some bad dream. God, he wished he was at home watching some crappy film with Lucky on his lap.

Hans opened the briefcase to reveal an assortment of knives, picks, wrenches, and other instruments clearly intended for torture. He brushed his fingers across them before selecting a long, thin spike.

Clint squirmed. Playing along and pretending to be Bruce Willis was one thing, but he really, _really,_ did not enjoy the idea of that _thing_ anywhere near him. Suddenly, his right arm slipped free of the ropes. _Finally, some luck on his side for once._ He quickly brought his arms around and delivered a clean right jab into Hans' left temple, knocking him out instantly. He reached down and grabbed his knife out of his left sock as Karl and the other goon (probably named Tony) ran towards him. He smirked.

"Yippee Ki Yay, Motherfuckers"

When Clint went to stand, all his luck drained out of him as his leg immediately gave out. _Since when was that broken?_ Still, he managed to adroitly maneuver his other leg around to kick Karl's feet out from under him. Karl fell hard, face planting into the concrete. Lights out. However, that move gave Tony the chance to attack. Tony planted a forceful kick to Clint's chest, knocking the wind out of him. He felt a rib crack. _Ouch. That was not part of the plan._ On the next kick, Clint grabbed Tony's leg, knocking him off balance. Tony fell back and Clint quickly threw a sharp uppercut and he heard Tony's head connect with the ground. _That's gonna leave a mark._

Clint dragged himself towards Hans' still form and searched him, finding a phone in his suit coat pocket. He heard footsteps as more goons came running towards him. He quickly dialed Nat's number, praying she'd pick up.

"Hello?"

"Nat, it's me, I need help." The footsteps grew closer. Clint struggled to stand up, preparing to fight again.

"Where are you?"

"I dunno," He squeaked out before three more guards rushed in. All with guns. _Great._

"How do you always get yourself into these messes, Clint. Seriously, you're like a trouble magnet." Clint could barely hear her over grunts emitted from the guards he was fighting. He threw his knife into the neck of the first guard, killing him instantly. The other two opened fire, but Clint was too quick, he dropped instantly, avoiding the spray. The guards moved in and Clint sprung up, disarming them in seconds. He drew on the years of training he had to efficiently dispose of the guards in front of him, but not before they landed a few blows themselves. He could hear more coming, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could last. All the blows to his concussed brain were adding up.

Two more guards appeared in the doorway. He managed to knock one out as the other punched him in the eye. His vision grayed, but he somehow held on long enough to land elbow in the nose of his assailant. The guard fell to his knees, clutching his face as blood spilled through his fingers. Clint added a neat left hook this time and the guard dropped the rest of the way to the ground heavily.

He couldn't hear any more guards coming, but he couldn't be certain over the buzzing in his ears. Clint slumped forward roughly, as everything went black.

He could feel himself swimming in a sea of black. He vaguely heard voices, but they sounded far away. He thought he recognized one, but he was too tired to care and let himself recede back into the sweet oblivion.

This time he felt more aware, closer to the surface. The strong scent of disinfectant prickled his nose. _Great a hospital._ He wanted to wrinkle his nose, but he couldn't seem to get his body to do anything.

Next, he heard an incessant, steady beep. He strained further, trying to reach the surface. A phone rang in the distance. He heard the creaky wheels of a cart roll past. He noticed the weight on his hand. Specifically, it was someone else's hand wrapped around his. Their skin was soft and fingers small. Nat.

Suddenly, he was hit with a new sense. Pain. It burned up and down his body. He hissed as he felt all his muscles tense. The incessant beeping sped up. His eyes shot open and he was met with a blinding white light as agony continue to rip into his body.

"Clint!"

Nurses came rushing in and quickly fiddled with one of the machines next to him, and soon the all-consuming fire simmered down into a tolerable ache. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.

One of the nurses addressed him, "Mr. Barton, glad to have you awake, Ms. Romanoff here was beginning to get restless."

He glanced at Nat who had a soft smile playing at her lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt coated in ash. He coughed. The nurse disappeared, returning a minute later with a styrofoam cup and a spoon. She scooped the spoon into the cup and plucked some ice chips in his mouth. He smiled his thanks as he sucked on them and let his mouth and throat get coated in the wonderful hydration. The nurse walked out. He swallowed and tried again.

"What happened?"

Nat chuckled. "What do you remember?"

"Not much"

"You were kidnapped by some low-level thug heading some amateur crime syndicate. He wanted to free his brother who was put away on international terrorism chargers a few years ago. He was trying to get a file with information about where his brother is being held and he thought you had access to the file because you were the one that arrested his brother."

"Huh"

"Huh? You have three broken ribs, a broken leg, several lacerations, and a severe concussion and all you have to say is huh?"

"Well, what else do ya want me to say?"

"God, you are unbelievable, Clint"

"When can get out of here?" He hated hospitals. They were boring and nurses or doctors came in every five minutes, invading your privacy and preventing you from getting any real rest.

"Not anytime soon, until then you're stuck here with me to keep you company."

"I hate hospitals."

"I know, but at least we get the chance to just relax and watch movies" Nat picked up the remote and flipped on the TV.

"Next up on AMC, _Die Hard_ "

"Awww C'mon!"

 _ **Fin.**_


End file.
